


Packing Heat

by AndeliaMaddock



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Anal, Beating, Dick Jokes, Fisto - Freeform, Guns, M/M, Rat murder, Spanking, Verbal Humiliation, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 19:54:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10624017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndeliaMaddock/pseuds/AndeliaMaddock
Summary: Pacer doesn't like little rats who extort money from him and then don't even follow through on promises, but he did say they're a bastard after his own heart.The Courier just doesn't know how to keep from being a smart ass.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Non-con warned for, dub-con is more what is present. I plan to do another with a DIFFERENT (probably) courier, but this one took hold of me and kept me from going as dark as I planned. Oops.

He popped a chunk of iguana into his mouth, and could practically feel his internal Geiger Counter ding. If you chewed slowly, you could enjoy the texture. It tasted a bit like mirelurk meat, fishy and a bit murky. The char added a nice depth to it.

"There you are. You're a tough guy to get a hold of sometimes, you know it?" Pacer placed one hand along the worn brick wall beside the Courier, and narrowed his eyes. "And look at you, standing there all cool and casual, like there's nothing wrong in the world. Ain't that a sight."

He tossed the greasy stick onto the ground and arched a brow up at Pacer's presence. "There isn't. Except that you're here." He sidled past Pacer, and headed towards the back buildings of Outer Freeside. "I've got work to do, you know." He clambered over a bit of loose rubble and rusty rebar.

"Oh, sure, sure, like telling lies to The King. Ain't that the kinda work you're fondest of, Kid?"

"Sounds like you're projecting." He glanced back over his shoulder, and gave a smirk. "That is, you're acting like I'm the one who does what you don't want to admit you do."

"I know what projecting means, you little--" Pacer tugged at the lapel of his jacket, let out a huff of irritation, and followed after. "You're a rat, you know that, Kid? Make me cough up the caps, tell him those dirty lies, and then give me the run around? I've killed men for lesser reasons."

"I would say threats are beneath you, but, I think we both know there's not a whole lot beneath you." He dodged down the alley, towards where Ralph had sent him. "I stopped you from getting killed by NCR, didn't I? You're welcome." Rocks and broken cement littered this section of town, and it looked like no one had been around in years. At least that meant maybe the bucket of bolts James wanted would be tucked away inside.

A hand tugged at his shoulder, and he was pivoted about, and pressed against a brick wall. "Don't you walk away from me. Your smug attitude is wearing real thin, Kid. The King might like you, but I know what you are."

"Someone who actually works. Now if you'll excuse--"

A gun pressed directly against his pelvis. A shot there might not kill him, but the way it angled downward might make him wish he was dead. The Mojave made you sweat, everyone know that. But the chamber of a gun pointed right at his most sensitive parts made a whole new wave of wetness seep from his forehead. 

He offered a lopsided grin, but he couldn't quite muster the same confidence he normally would. 

Mutually assured destruction was something he'd read about in a pre-war book. The threat of the enemy destroying you if you destroyed them. If both sides have the same massively powerful weapons, neither side would use them, right?

"If you kill me, he'll know. I told him you might not be looking out for everyone. If you kill me, he'll take a much harder look at you."

Pacer's upper lip curled to one side, and his dark eyes deepened perceptibly. "He's known me for years. He'd never--"

"He's already suspicious of you, Pace."

Hand to his throat now. Pacer pressed their bodies close, eyes focused on the Courier's. "Don't you ever call me that. You ain't earned that right."

Of course, mutually assured destruction hadn't worked out too well for the world on a large scale. Everyone had paid for it. Why would he believe trying that tactic here would work? 

He pressed up a bit, against the hand that threatened to pulverize his throat. "Pacer. We can work something out." It came out reasonably well, throat crushing considered. He could hear most of the words, at least. Pacer probably wasn't too stupid to figure out what he meant.

The gun pressed harder against his pelvis, moved down just enough to press hard, directly above the Courier's cock. "Can we? See, we already tried to run a deal, the two a us. And what'd you do? You went and blew it." Never one to be subtle, he pressed the gun harder. "So why shouldn't I blow you?"

The Courier was almost thankful there was a hand at his throat. That statement would have been hard to resist replying to. But something about having a gun at his dick and a hand at his throat reminded him of the risks. 

Something about Pacer pressed up so close to him, their bodies flush, informed him of something else.

"So that's why you followed me." It was grunted, pressed hard through his throat. But this sentence was much more clearly heard than his last vocal attempt.

Pacer eased off on his grip, ever so slightly. "Come again?" His breath hot at the Courier's cheeks.

"Well, I would ask, is that a gun in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?" He readjusted himself with a careful shifting of his feet on the rubble, to give himself a bit more leverage. "But I think we both know that one, it is a gun, and two, you're not happy to see me."

"What're you on ab-"

"But at least one part of you is." He didn't dare move his hands far, but they stroked slowly along Pacer's hips. "Are you sure you don't want to talk things out, Pacer?"

The sneer shifted. Incredulous, with thick eyebrows raised and his mouth hung open just a bit, no longer curled with such disgust. Suspicious, and those brows lowered once more, tight together, and upper lip once more shifted a bit higher. Interested, with eyes that read the lines on the Courier's face, and glances around that assured Pacer that no one else was nearby. "King always says I should talk before I take action. Maybe I'll take his advice. Lucky you." He pulled back, just barely enough to give the younger man a bit of space. "If I see you go for a weapon, I'll make sure no one ever sees you again, got it? No smart moves here."

Keeping his mouth shut and not talking back had never been a strong suit. He eyed them. Tension coiled through his entire body, and he did his best to unwind it with slow movements. "We might be better off in the labs."

"Come again?"

"The job? James wanted me getting one of those bots from this place."

"What's a place like the Wrangler got use of a rusty robot for?"

"Well, probably they don't want a rusty one, since they've hired me to reprogram it to being a sexbot." He chuckled, until he remembered the situation. There was still a gun pointed at his most private of places. That could dampen anyone's mood. "All I'm saying, is it's probably not as hot in there as it is out here. And no prying eyes. Could make thing better."

"Yeah, and soon as we go in, you'll run off and try to get away, huh?"

"Look, on my honor, I won't ok?" Hands up, and as innocent an expression as he could muster.

"Right, right, like 200 caps from me was enough to keep you from runnin' your mouth 'bout me to the King. On your honor." A glimmer of rage was back, and he lifted the gun up to their chest. "Should just end you."

Maybe it was because there wasn't a threat to his lower half anymore. Something about a shot in the chest, or even the head, was less frightening than the previous position of that gun. Still, it wasn't exactly the best idea.

Courier didn't usually have the best ideas. "Probably. But seeing as how you haven't yet, I don't think you really want to. I think you're all puffed up and mad. But what was that you said when you gave me the caps? A bastard after your own heart?" Stupid, idiot, no sense at all. He knew it. He knew it, but still he stepped forward and wrapped his hands around Pacer's shoulders. "Come on, Pacer. You're hot on the trigger usually. So if you really want to 'blow me', why haven't you yet?"

That brought up a bright blush over Pacer's cheeks. He snorted, then pushed them away with one hand, and kept the gun aimed steady with the other. "Those labs. They got anyone else in them?" He cocked his head a bit in the direction of the decrepit building, though his eyes stayed focused on the Courier. 

"Guess we'll find out, huh?" They sidled away from Pacer, and carefully stepped over debris and moved to the doorway. "I mean, unless you'd prefer to 'talk' out here." 

"Get inside."

He hated rats. Rodents as big as a decently sized dog had no right to exist. He'd taken a shot at that rat in town, and felt himself sickened when the child that had been chasing it offered him a cheery thanks, and devoured its flesh raw.

These rats were uglier. Glowing green eyes, reminiscent of the green haze that shimmered above pools of radioactive waste. Reminded him of the Glowing Ones near RepConn. 

So maybe, for all his bravado in the face of many things, not having a gun at the ready and in his hand (damn Pacer, damn him!) he panicked a bit when a couple dozen different rats swarmed near them, clearly enthused about their next meal.

So maybe, maybe, when Pacer took off shots, one, two, three, four, reload. Again. The shots covered the sound of everything else, including their grisly little squeaks and their nasty skittering claws against the raised and curled pre-War linoleum. 

Normally, this would be the point where Boone sternly teased him for panicking about rats, when he could shoot down a couple Legion assassins and then complain that he wanted something besides Gecko steak dinner that night. But he'd sent Boone off back to that big dinosaur, while he tried to chat up the doctor here in town.

He blinked, and focused on their little corpses. They weren't as massive as he had thought. There certainly weren't almost a hundred, like his brain had screamed at him. He let out a breathy chuckle, and shook his head. "Well, that takes care of that."

"Yeah." Pacer turned back towards him, and reloaded his 10mm once more. "Though, coulda had a hand there in taking care of 'em. Course, you were too busy cowering, I guess."

"Y-you told me not to pull out a weapon!" It sounded like a whine, even to his own ringing ears. He adjusted his tone and tried to calm his expression. "And I wasn't cowering. I just."

"Don't like rats, huh?" Pacer had that same half grin on his face that the King always did. It was a well practiced expression on the King, but on Pacer it had a slightly darker feel to it. He stepped closer, feet pushing up dust.

"Who does, really?" He wasn't a coward. He'd shot down two Deathclaws just that week. Even Boone had been impressed, in that grim sort of way Boone got to being sometimes.

"That's funny though, considering what you are."

"I--" had a mouthful. He stiffened, his spine tense, and his arms awkwardly held at his sides. Slowly, he lifted his hands up to wrap about Pacer's shoulders once more. He liked a bit more warning before his kisses, usually, but there was a thrill to the demand in this one. It wasn't passion, not really, more like domination mingled with desire. 

He felt hands at his ass, lifting and groping at the flesh there. A moment later, he was lifted, and all that kept him against Pacer was his arms about their shoulder, and their arms about his bottom. For seconds, all he could do was kiss harder and hold on. Then metal bent downward under the pressure of his body, and he realized he was on the front desk. 

Someone had collated papers and spilled coffee and answered phones on this desk once. Some busy pre-War secretary had probably never really thought about what would happen to her one day. She wouldn't have been rich enough, or lucky enough, to get into a Vault, more than likely.

He groaned the thought away, and splayed himself out a bit for Pacer to better get a grip.

Get a grip Pacer did. Fingers dug into wrists, and one of Pacer's large hands held the Courier's hands high above. The other peeled the layer's of the Courier's shirt up. "You better not move a muscle without my say so. Got it? You try anything funny, and you ain't gonna live to regret it."

"Far be it from me to try to be funny." 

Narrowed eyes and sternly lined lips were the only response, before Pacer went right back to work, stripping the other and biting and kissing every bit of flesh that was before him, as it was revealed. "For someone who goes around the Wastes shoving yourself into every situation going on, you're not packing a lot of heat."

"Ok, if that's a jab about my size, then I'm a grower not a shower, alright?" He sat up just a little and eyed them, down near his jeans.

A breathy chuckle, and a shake of his head. "Nah. No problems there, right now. More like, you've got a dinky little gun here. You must be carrying something else." He lifted the now emptied .22 pistol.

"I left the others in my room at the Wrangler. James seemed really insistent that his 'customer' wanted a machine, and now. Who was I to turn down that kinda money?"

"Enough money to make you forget how not to die?"

"I'm not dead yet." He sat upright a bit more. "Besides, if I'd come in here how I wanted to, all I'd need is a .22. You're the one who made me barge in here. Not my fault the rats got the drop on us."

Pacer considered him, that same smirk on his face from before. He tossed the gun away, and crawled up onto the Courier. "You make a lot of excuses, for someone who likes to cause most of the trouble you get in."

He wanted to deny it, really. And he could, and he'd have a lot of good evidence. Numerous times that he didn't cause trouble, and he also fixed it. Sure, sure. But with lips heavy on his, and a 'gun' in Pacer's pocket that really was happy to see him, rubbing against his own. Well. He just moaned, and let his smart mouth work another way for once.

The secretary of Cerulean Labs had probably never seen the ceiling from quite this position. Probably, the wallpaper didn't peel quite so bad centuries ago. Courier wasn't sure. Even as they kissed and sucked, bit and moaned, they couldn't keep their thoughts from considering it.

Pacer dug pared fingernails in at his wrists.

"Huh?" He inhaled sharply, and glanced up at Pacer, focused on his features. They looked irritated, with brows furrowed in, and lips tense and tightly pulled together. "What?"

"You ain't payin' attention."

He blinked. "I'm kissing back, aren't I? Besides, it's not my fault the ceiling's got an interesting pattern on it."

"I think maybe it's time I showed you what happens when you don't pay attention to me."

"Oh, did I hurt your feelings?" He grinned a little, and tried to sit upright a bit more. No go. Pacer gripped those wrists nice and tight. Or, uncomfortable and tight, as the case was. 

"No, but I'm going to be hurting you." He was quicker than he looked. In a few short motions, Pacer had the Courier over his lap, across the length of the desk in the opposite direction. 

"Oh, what're you going to do, spank me?" He actually tried to sound challenging, but his raw throat gave him away with how husky and low the question fell. That, and the way he squirmed and hardened probably didn't help. 

"You know it. And you've earned every hit. Now you better count, and if you trip up, you get to start over. Got it?" Hands on the Courier's hair, pulling him up just enough so they could look at one another.

That hard expression of dominance got the Courier biting his lip, and nodding, despite the controlling hand gripping his hair. "Got it."

"Good boy. Might have some use for you yet." 

The first one shouldn't have been a surprise. It came as quick as the first shot at the rats had.

"Gonna count, or did you forget how?"

"O-one." He gripped the edge and underside of the metal desktop. Sheet metal had been bent in, and folded over another piece. Safety hadn't been a top concern in pre-War times, just like it wasn't in post-War times. The metal bit into his fingers, but grounded him. "I mean, if you can call that a--"

The next one was harder, and higher. Just beneath the start of the spine.

"Two." He shifted, and tried to relax over Pacer's lap. "Think you could aim a little better? I know a doc, at the Mormon Fort, he could get you some really cool glasses if that's an issue and--"

Another hit, then two more in rapid succession. "Can it, Kid. And keep counting."

"Three, four, five." He quickly replied, though he grit his teeth at the last hit. "I'm just saying, Arcade's a pretty good doc.

Arcade would tell him off for allowing someone to spank him. If he told Arcade. Which he wouldn't. Oh, hey, hot sarcastic doctor I've been flirting with for the better part of two weeks. I know that we're finally getting close, but in order to keep a bit of a psychopath with a bloodlust from killing me, or worse, shooting my junk off, I may have allowed him to spank me. I may have allowed more. 

I may have enjoyed it more than I would ever admit to anyone.

Wanna go get coffee sometime?

A few hits blurred together. It was his pants fault, obviously. Pacer hadn't completely bared him, and the Courier was thinking of things. He couldn't help that, really. It helped him when he was in battle, and constantly observing and moving and thinking. But in situations like this, he wasn't so in control.

"Wow. I thought you were a poindexter, but here you are, you can't even count to ten. Feel a little bad about that, how about we go again, huh?" Mockery wove right into those words, palpable even when Courier couldn't see Pacer's face.

"Oh, sure. Think you could count with me? I can barely feel these hits, it's a bit hard to tell what to count." Mistakes were made, just about every day of his life. But today, especially, he had made a lot of mistakes. At least ten. 

"Well, let me help. You know me, always willing to give a hand." Sarcasm drowned out that sentence, and hands roughly removed their belt and jerked down the Courier's pants. 

The Courier, for his part, didn't resist it. He inhaled his sigh to keep it from pleasing Pacer, and just kicked off the pants so he didn't look like an ass, with his pants around his ankles. Also, if he did have to run, it was a lot easier running without pants on, than with them around his ankles. Hopefully, though, it wouldn't come to that.

Hopefully, though, it wouldn't come to him running through the middle of Freeside, completely nude and chased by an enraged Pacer.

It got a laugh though, and he tried to stifle it against his arm. 

"Somethin' funny?" There was a warning rumble in the question.

"No." Yes. But they felt a thick bit of leather over their backside, and knew better than to say exactly what had caught their attention. They wriggled their slim hips a bit. "Are you going--"

"One. Now count with me." Amusement tinged that rough voice.

Courier winced, "One." Pain blossomed on his ass, but he didn't complain. He'd all but asked for this. 

When two came, he gripped even harder along the metal desk underside. "Fuck."

"Sorry, try again. Two."

"Two." They stared at the doorway opposite them. "You know. You're not someone who really builds up to things, are you?"

"Yeah?" Another hit, same spot, same application of force. "Three." The voice had the tone of someone teaching a child to count. A particularly slow and stubborn child.

"Three." He grit out, and ground his cock against their inner thigh, despite the rough material. "I just mean, you could have more fun doing something else with my ass, I'm sure."

"You ain't getting out of this until I say so. Now stop running your mouth, and count."

"Four. Five." Two hits, rapid and strong, but at least they weren't in the same damn spot. "Six."

"Wow. I'm impressed. But do you know the next ones? That's where you hit a snag last time." 

He'd get Pacer. He wasn't entirely sure how, or where, and he definitely didn't know when. It would happen though. "Believe it or not, I'm entirely capable of counting past ten."

"Amazing. Just amazing. Yet, here we are. And you didn't count those last two."

"Seven, eight." He'd unload ten bullets into Pacer's head if they didn't finish. 

Though, the Courier couldn't really deny that it got him going, even if it shouldn't have. Spanking, oh sure, he loved that. But Pacer was being a brute about it. And the verbal humiliation? Implying that the Courier was stupid?

He groaned, and panted against his forearm. "Nine. Ten."

"Very good. I didn't even have to count with you. But let's count again. I wanna make sure you really know 'em."

For the love of-- "One. Two. Three." If he'd internally complained about Pacer hitting one spot several times in a row, he complained more when several different spots got attention in a few quick hits. He winced, and tried to guess where it would hit next.

"Uh uh, no you don't. Stop tensing. Keep counting." 

The way that voice chided him, as if he were little more than a damn naughty child was enraging.

His cock twitched, and he counted further, "Four, five. Six." Breathe in, breathe out. The air choked, hot and dusty from the Mojave heat and years of being uninhabited by humans. Still, he tried to focus. 

For all his internal complaints, he couldn't deny the way he arched, the way he squirmed, the way he actively enjoyed. Fucking Pacer. Hell, he'd enjoy that too, he thought with a smirk that curled over his tense face.

"Seven. Eight. Nine." He waited. Moments passed, and he adjusted his head a bit to look back.

Pacer struck as the Courier watched.

"Ten." They felt every line, it swelled and raised over his pale cheeks. "Pacer."

"Yeah?"

"Come on. You know there's more we could be doing."

"Is there? Maybe this is all I want."

"It's not all I want." Damn it, but it was true. Sure, had you asked him a few days ago, would they ever want anything to do with Pacer, they'd say. Well, ok they'd say yes, he was a hot guy with a good sense of style, even if he was hot headed. But still, they'd have to think about it first. Yet, here they were. Dick leaking, naked, hot, and wanting to jump Pacer like that's all they'd ever thought about.

Pacer seemed to consider it.

Pacer took a bit too long to say anything. 

Courier was smaller than a lot of guys, but he was quicker too. What he didn't have in sheer physicality, he had in grace and agility. He pushed Pacer off the desk, and into the old rolling chair behind it. "Are you going to give me what I want? Or am I going to have to take it?" 

Pacer could stop him. He even seemed to consider it, if the way those eyelids tightened and narrowed, before the lips turned up into a smirk meant anything. But that consideration was quick. Pacer gripped the Courier by the hips, and guided them onto his lap. "Who am I to turn down someone so eager."

"If any bastard would get me this far, and do that, it would be you." He nipped at Pacer's neck. Dull fingernail dug at any flesh that was revealed. Arms, shoulders, neck, even slivers of belly that the now untucked shirt showed off. "Come on, Pacer. You came here for a reason, didn't you?"

"Believe it or not, it wasn't this."

"I don't believe it. You were as hard as your gun almost the entire time."

"Think what you want." For once, there was little malice in the words. Pacer tugged up his shirt, and tossed it onto the dusty desk. 

Foreplay. Courier loved foreplay. But he had a feeling the things he could count as foreplay included a gun pointed at his dick, verbal humiliation, and a rather brutal belting. He couldn't complain. Except about that first part, but his dick was apparently over the fear, so why should he be concerned right then?

Still, he had hoped to get a bit more, before there was a cock pressed against his ass, not so much asking for entrance, as demanding it. 

Courier let out short, breathy groans, and tried to relax. Cheap novels and bawdy stories said it would hurt. And sure, it did, especially when he'd first started doing things like this and didn't know a damn thing. But he'd had enough practice with sex like this, that he knew how to relax himself, even when they didn't take his comfort into mind. 

At least Pacer was a leaker. The guy had so much precum all along the head, it provided at least a bit of lubrication. Not that Pacer went slow.

It wasn't half a minute, before he bottomed out on Pacer's cock, his pelvis pressed against Pacer's stomach, and his legs awkwardly up against the metal arm rest of the chair. He stabilized himself with a hand on Pacer's shoulder, and another on the back of the chair. "You're not very patient," he chided lightly, while he worked on getting used to the sensation.

"You've known me a while. I think you knew that going in." He tugged them in closer. 

Forehead to forehead, it wasn't intimate like it might be with others. There was no looking into blue eyes and seeing love reflected back. There was a raw violence he could appreciate about the way this all went down.

Pacer didn't kiss like he loved. He kissed like he owned. Like he deserved.

Courier held on, and went along with the way those strong hands lifted, and tugged. Fingers clutched around their hips with bruising pressure, and all they could do was moan into Pacer's mouth, and take the cock that Pacer made them ride.

Like with everything else, Pacer was quick and brutal. He finished. A grunt into their mouth, a bite to their neck, and a shove to their chest. In less than a minute, he was dressed again, and at the door. "I wouldn't cross me again if I were you. But if you want a little bit of attention from me, you know where to find me." He turned, and watched them, watched their quick thrusts into their hands. "Maybe I'll even help you get off next time. But way I figure it, this time was punishment. Showing you that there are people beneath me. Most especially you."

He came a moment after they left. It was a particular form of defiance that let him hold off until he was certain they wouldn't know how their awful words affected them.

For a minute, he just lay there. His eyes focused on the pattern in the decrepit ceiling, his body focused on relaxing and steadying his breath.

Finally, he fumbled around to clean up a bit, and get his clothes on. He still had a job to do, after all.


End file.
